where women’s truth dares to ride
In a crowd of people, that hoarse and loud voice pierced my ears from a distance.
He appeared in his Rastafarian ensemble, with a face that expressed hatred and
disgust. He stood looking at me and my four friends. A lot was going on in my mind. I
did not know what to do or say. We were making our way to a community dialogue at
the Tsakane Park so we were rushing to get refreshments for the day. Tons of
people stood there in the mall looking at us. A lot was written on their faces. In their
hearts and minds, words were forming into lines and sentences, sentences were
forming into paragraphs. Paragraphs filled with hate…love…pity…shame and the
need to express themselves.
women’s human rights storytelling
Eight-year-old Maria Elena del Valle went on a red string strike. She was angry about having to do all the household chores while her older brother got away with leaving their home a mess every day. She proposed to divide in two every space she shared with him, including the toilet seat, with a red string down the middle for two weeks – half for her and half for her brother.
